The Dance we Shared
by lone astronomer
Summary: Harry thinks he needs to run, then realizes that what he really needs is home.


The Dance we Shared

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. property of J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended. The title relates, of course, to The X-Files, because everything relates to the X-Files, even my fish.

Summary: Harry returns 'home' after a year for his best friends' wedding and reflects on a dance with a certain someone… and gets to be decidedly un-eloquent. Angst, then fluff. Nothing better.

Note: Around the middle it starts sounding disturbingly _Anne of Green Gables_-esque. I don't really know why the muse chose this style, but it works: Ginny and Harry as Anne and Gilbert. How romantic!

*

He remembered it like it was yesterday, but they both knew that it hadn't been. He remembered every little detail, everything, from the way her fiery red hair had felt tucked under his chin to the way her body had swayed against his. He remembered the way she had laughed and cried and melted against him, the way she had almost let him kiss her, the way he had almost kissed her anyway. He remembered how much he had wanted her, and no matter how hard he tried to forget, she reminded him without even being there.

And now, here he was again. The circumstances were certainly different. That had been a celebration of the end, or many ends: the end of the war, the end of most of the fighting, the end of the constant fear. This was a beginning, the beginning of something wonderful between his two best friends, the celebration of their union.

He hadn't seen any of them since that one, almost-perfect night a year before. And here he was on her parents' doorstep.

He closed his eyes, feeling the frustration and pain building up behind them, and leaned onto the porch railing, facing the setting sun. He wasn't quite ready to go inside yet. Things couldn't be the way they might've been. He hadn't been stable, she'd been so young… and he had run. So he didn't go inside. Instead, he took a deep breath, and remembered a night lost a year in the past and a similar pose on a balcony...

*

__

one year previously…

Harry had to consciously restrain himself from finding a dark corner of the room to hide away in, even escaping it completely. It didn't feel right, celebrating, when so many had died. The Ministry's Grand Ballroom was lavishly decorated, with tables and chairs off to one side of the dance floor and several buffet tables well laden with cocktails and various snacks. He felt ridiculously out-of-place; most of wizard England had been invited and everyone seemed to be giving him the wide berth his position demanded. It wasn't that they didn't want to talk to him- quite the opposite. Most simply seemed to have the common sense to know that a man so young who had lost so much was not likely to want to be subjected to their attention. The media had emphatically _not_ been invited.

His eyes scanned the crowd enviously. More or less everyone seemed to be having a fairly good time, putting their pain and losses behind them for a moment. Not a soul in the room had been spared loss, whether it was a friend, a spouse, a child or a sibling. A memorial to those who had died stood in the center of the room, a huge black obsidian pillar engraved with the names of those who had perished. Harry's heart twinged uncomfortably; he hadn't known he had so much family left to lose. Bill, the oldest of Ron's siblings, had been first, falling in one of the earliest organized attacks. Sirius had followed, and was not dead but catatonic after being subjected to intense mental, physical and emotional torture. Percy was gone, as well; Dumbledore was dead, Professor McGonagall- Harry would forever think of her as Professor, though he'd graduated Hogwarts months previously- was missing and presumed dead as well. Colin Creevey, Terry Boot, Cho Chang, Padma Patil- these were just a few of the names of those Harry had gone to school with, those whom he would never see again.

Without knowing exactly how he'd gotten there, Harry found himself in front of it, tracing over the letters with one hand. It was cold and smooth, so much so that he nearly jerked his hand away in shock. He had thought it would bring him closure, a sense of peace; instead it only served to remind him of the finality of death, the fragility of life, the cold, hard earth in which his friends were buried.

A sharp sound, like shattering glass, pulled him out of his reverie, and he found his eyes drawn to the source of the distraction. It hadn't been terribly loud, really, it just seemed different. It set itself apart from the dull murmuring of the rest of the room.

Apparently, the sound had issued from the mouth of Ginny Weasley. She stood next to Parvati and Hermione in one far corner of the room, half bent in what was probably grief, dry sobs escaping her. As she quieted, Harry was struck, not for the first time, by her exquisite beauty. Ginny was dismissed by some as plain, but Harry saw in the set of her jaw and the shine in her eyes the strength of her character, her grim resolution, her perseverance, and above all her unwavering loyalty. It startled him somewhat to see her outpouring of emotion; he supposed she was finally grieving for Colin, who had been one of her closest friends. Maybe she was grieving for others, as well; he doubted she had allowed herself the luxury before.

Irrationally, he wanted to comfort her. They had never been very close; her childhood crush had embarrassed him and he had kept his distance. He had always wondered what exactly he could have done to deserve such unconditional love. To offer her affection only now, when they were both at their most emotionally vulnerable, would be unfair to both of them. 

Suddenly the ballroom seemed far too warm and crowded, and Harry slipped out a door onto a balcony for some fresh air.

__

Forget her. You've hurt her enough already just by being distant. You tried to keep yourself away from emotional attachment and to some extent you succeeded- now you have to live with the consequences. He sighed. Obviously the old maxim 'out of sight, out of mind' did not apply. He tried to concentrate on the faint strains of Muggle-sounding music drifting out from the ballroom.

Rapid footsteps behind him caused him to glance up, but his back was still to the ballroom. They ran straight into him and fell to the ground with a startled exclamation of, "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't see you there, I…"

"It's quite alright," Harry said, which it was. Whoever had run into him certainly didn't weigh very much. Besides, it was dark out and he was wearing black dress robes. He reached down to help her up. "I shouldn't have…" he paused, recognizing the red hair and teal gown. She probably hadn't seen him through her tears. "…stopped," Harry finished, releasing her hand only after conscious effort. "Hello, Ginny."

"Hi, Harry," she answered, sounding only slightly surprised that it was him. She reached up and wiped the last traces of tears from her face, her mascara smearing somewhat on her cheeks. "I should have expected that you'd be out here. Do you…" she paused. "Mind sharing your refuge for a while?"

He smiled, moving over so that she could lean against the railing with him. "Not at all," he said, though this was not exactly true. Still, there were few people he'd rather hide with. _Carpe diem_, he thought._ Why not take the opportunity to get to know her better? _"Parties aren't your thing either?"

Ginny managed a wan smile. "It seems a little inappropriate, trying to forget about everyone, about all the sacrifices we had to make, so that we could be here and celebrate. You know?" 

He did know. He wondered if maybe he and Ginny had more in common than he'd originally thought. "Yeah. It doesn't feel right." He ran his hand back through his hair, belatedly realizing that this would cause it to stand straight up on end. Well, he was sure Ginny had seen him looking worse. 

"I wish it was easier," she said, so wistfully Harry almost thought she was talking to herself.

Without thinking about it, he covered her hand with his. She was shivering, and he wanted to do more, but beyond that he knew he had to respect her space. _She's fragile right now_, he reminded himself. _And so are you_. "It'll get better," he promised. "It can't get any worse."

"Bite your tongue," Ginny reproved him gently. "You'll jinx it." But she was smiling again. 

Harry's stomach twinged again, pleasantly this time. "Sorry." And then he did something that he had always wanted to do, but hadn't expected. "Ginny… I know you don't much feel like celebrating, and neither do I. To tell the truth, if Remus hadn't guilted me into this I'd be home right now drowning my sorrows in the world's largest mug of hot chocolate." He smiled ruefully; he'd never gotten the hang of alcohol. "But since we're here… may I have this dance?"

Ginny raised red-rimmed brown eyes curiously, and he thought he saw her smile deepen for a moment. "I," she said firmly, "would be honored."

Tentatively, Harry reached out and put an arm around her waist, never taking his other hand off of hers but intertwining their fingers. Though the early September night was more than a little chilly, Ginny felt warm in his embrace. At first she kept a little distance between them, but as they danced it shrank until she finally gave in and laid her head on his shoulder.

"This is nice," she said softly, her warm breath on his neck. "Did you take lessons?"

He chuckled. "Hermione taught me, actually. Which counts, I suppose."

He could feel her smile. "Yes, I suppose it does." She was quiet for another few precious moments. Then: "I've never heard this song before. It's… nice."

Unconsciously, Harry pulled her closer. "It's called _The Long and Winding Road_," he told her. "It was fairly popular in the Muggle world when my parents were growing up." He recalled the records he'd found hidden in a pile in one corner of the Gringotts vault. "The group was called the Beatles."

"Oh…" Ginny lifted her eyes towards his. "Do they sing that song… I think it's called _Blackbird_."

He wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember. "I don't know."

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see," she sang softly. Harry tuned out the song they were dancing to and nearly trod on her foot. "All your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free…" Her words struck a chord deep within him. He couldn't believe that he had allowed himself to shut her out of his life for so long. But before he could think of taking a further course of action, Ginny trailed off and dropped her gaze slightly, no longer meeting his eyes. 

He leaned his head forward and bent it down a little until she looked up again, her eyes large and dark. And then-

And then Ginny looked away, and the moment was gone. Harry toyed with the idea of raising her chin with his hands, but she had made it clear that she did not want to kiss him. Instead, when the song was over, he kissed her forehead and smiled sadly and said, "Goodbye, Ginny," and left.

*

"Harry?"

Every fibre of his being screamed at him to turn around, to behold again at last the face of the witch he had spent much of the last year thinking about. Instead, he allowed himself the hint of a smile at the sound of her voice. "I think I'm the one invading your place of refuge, this time."

With a whisper of fabric on fabric, she moved up beside him. "I only wish that you'd done so a bit sooner. We've missed you, Harry- where have you been?"

There was something mildly accusatory in her tone, and he couldn't blame her. Any trace of amusement vanished. Even he felt like he had betrayed her- her and all of his friends, the friends that he thought of as family. He'd thought he needed time, after the war had ended, time to straighten out his thoughts, mourn the loss of his loved ones, decide what to do with his life. Time to reflect. Time to heal. He had spent the greater part of it in Asia playing a variation of Quidditch that involved fire-spouting Bludgers. "Everywhere," he finally sighed by way of an answer. "Except home." Home, it had turned out, was what he had really needed, in the end.

But Ginny didn't know that.

"I guess you're just here for the wedding, then."

He was- partially, anyway. There was no way he would miss the wedding of one best friend to another- not for any measure of solitude or peace of mind. But he had had other things on his mind since he'd disappeared, as well- slender, red-headed, chocolate-eyed things- one in particular, anyway. He felt like he had betrayed her for that, too. He knew her; she was his friend, even occasional confidante. Yet still he did not know her as he ought to, not in proportion to what he felt for her, not as he wanted to, and it seemed to depreciate what he felt somehow, and he would not act on such tainted emotions. 

"Harry?"

And Harry could not resist turning to look at her this time. "No, Ginny," he said, keeping his voice low. She was paler than he'd seen her before, her befreckled face looked somehow stretched out, worn. He thought she was beautiful. "I'm not just here for the wedding." He remembered that night a year ago when he had covered her hand with his and gave in to the urge to repeat the action.

She tensed slightly. "Oh, no," Ginny whispered. "No, you can't do that to me again. Not again, Harry," she begged, and he wondered what she meant, but then he didn't have to, because she drew her hand away. "You can't hold out hope, a promise, and take it away like that, you just can't. Because for a few seconds, a few minutes or hours or days, I thought I might mean something to you. And your timing was _terrible_ but it made me so happy- I thought I could heal with you and everything would be okay-" She stopped there, perhaps realizing she was rambling. 

His heart broke a little, which worried him; why did he need her so badly? "Ginny," he tried once more, "I've asked for too much from you, and from everyone I know, just in being here. But I know if I don't ask you for a little more I will never forgive myself." Harry reached out for her hand again, and this time she did not resist. "Save me one dance tomorrow," he pleaded.

She looked in his eyes for a moment, and then down at her fingers, before nodding. Then, after a moment of awkward silence, she led him inside.

*

She was radiant. 

It was the only word he could think of that described her properly, the bashfulness of her younger days gone with a glass or two of the fine wine being served at Ron and Hermione's wedding. The reception was being hosted at The Burrow, and the whole backyard was teeming with guests- friends, relatives, co-workers- everyone lighthearted and smiling. It was so blissfully _normal_- Harry couldn't remember the last time something had been normal. Then someone told a joke and Ginny laughed, and all concept of _normal_ flew out the window, because this was so much better.

He had to talk to her.

Getting there was difficult- everyone seemed to want to talk to him as well, and he didn't want to be rude. Eventually he gave up all pretense at walking at a rational speed and made a beeline for the table at which Ginny was sitting, thanking his lucky stars that, though the band were on a break, there was still recorded music being played on one of Mr. Weasley's old Muggle devices. He bowed low, grasping her hand and kissing it. "May I have this dance?"

Ginny flushed slightly and stood, and Harry did his best not to stare. "You look lovely."

She flushed again, and he found himself delighted. "Thank you." She finally met his eyes. "This song again, Harry?" Ginny teased, sliding into his arms quite instinctively for someone who had only been there once before, except in his dreams.

"It reminds me of you," he answered lightly, steering his laughing partner towards the far end of the area of grass that was serving as a dance floor. They fell into a natural rhythm, only breaking it when Harry chose a moment to slip further away from the celebration. 

"Where are we going?" Ginny finally asked, giving in to her curiosity.

Harry smiled. He hoped she couldn't hear his heart racing, and without saying a word led her down by the brook. Here he released her, as the strains of music had become increasingly faint, and motioned for her to sit on the wooden swing that hung from a tree. 

"What is it?" She sat there, ankles crossed and tucked behind her, a confused expression on her face; she seemed awkward, sitting in her childhood swing in a dress that clearly marked her as a woman, and Harry thought fleetingly that this was Ginny on the cusp of many things, some he couldn't identify.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I've been very unfair to you," he explained at last. "It's not your fault, and you don't deserve it." Faced with the unhappy task of explaining himself, he sighed and took her hand again. Chocolate brown eyes met him and implored him to continue, and he was compelled to do so. "And now I'm going to ask your permission to be very forward and unsubtle."

Looking amused and concerned at the same time, Ginny nodded.

Harry took a deep breath. "A year ago I looked at myself and I found that I liked you a great deal more than I could account for with how well I know you- there are so many gaps to fill in, so much I want to learn…" He paused. "I don't want to cheapen this- us, that is if you want us to be an us- by rushing into something that I feel but can't explain. I want to know you better." A faint blush had crept across her delicate features. "I guess what I'm saying," he finally concluded, "is… Ginny, would it be alright with you if I asked you on a date?"

Ginny stood, still flushed and smiling slightly, and squeezed his hand, and that was all the permission he needed. Then she kissed him on the cheek and led him back to the dancing.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry Potter marveled at how lucky he was.


End file.
